


New Year's Eve, 1964

by DoctorLennon007



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Christmas, Cute, Fluff, Gen, Holidays, Humor, Jewish Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 19:24:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2784848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorLennon007/pseuds/DoctorLennon007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Beatles decide to do something nice for Brian this year! How can things possibly go wrong? A fluffy seasonal oneshot!</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Year's Eve, 1964

**It's not yet the holidays, so as of now, I do not own the Beatles. I can only hope that this will change!**

**A/N: Hi everybody! Just a cute seasonal oneshot/plot bunny! I had to get it out. For my Beatles in a Beetle readers, I'm still working on it! The next chapter should be up Tuesday or Wednesday :0)**

* * *

"Careful!" yelped George. "Don't lose your balance!"

"I'm fine!" called John back from the top of his ladder. He carefully positioned a star atop the gigantic Christmas tree, and looked around his Kenwood living room proudly. "I've done it!"

Paul, George, and Ringo clapped heartily. "Congratulations!"

John descended from the stepladder triumphantly and admired the sparkling tree.

"Cyn'll love that," said Ringo. One of John's cats was curled up on the drummer's lap, purring contentedly. He absently stroked it behind the ears.

"We should do something nice for Brian this year," mused Paul from his seat on the couch. "I mean, he's done an awful lot for us."

"Yeah!" agreed Ringo enthusiastically. "We should have a Christmas party for him!"

George raised an eyebrow at the drummer. "He's Jewish, Rings. That means he doesn't celebrate Christmas."

"Oh," replied Ringo, crestfallen. "That's right, I forgot."

"We could have a New Year's party, though," offered Paul.

"But what if he's Chinese?" objected John. "They celebrate New Year's at a completely different time."

"Brian's not Chinese," said George, throwing a couch pillow at John. John expertly dodged the missile and sat down on the couch next to Paul.

"It's settled, then," said Ringo. "We'll have a New Year's party for Brian. When should it be?"

The other three stared at him.

"Oh, haha," replied Ringo, grinning. "I meant what time."

"How about 9:30?" suggested John.

Paul shrugged. "It's your house."

"My house? Why does it have to be here?" complained John.

"Because it's the biggest," replied George. "Paul doesn't even have a house yet, he's still living with the Ashers."

"I should get a house," mused Paul.

"Right! Let's make it a surprise!" said Ringo. "The party, I mean, not Paul's house."

"I'm game," said John. "So, we all meet up here at around seven, say? I'll get Cyn and Julian to go up to Liverpool or something, so it's just us. Then we can cook up some food and call Eppy. We'll make up some excuse to get him over here. Oh, and we have to decorate."

"Sounds good!" said Paul.

"I'm in!" exclaimed Ringo.

"It would be awkward if I didn't go," said George, "so I guess I'll be there, too."

* * *

New Year's Eve:

The Fab Four were gathered in John's Kenwood kitchen.

"What's this do?" asked Ringo, twirling a long, two-pronged fork.

John grabbed it from him and set it down. "I dunno, but it looks dangerous when you're holding it."

"Obviously, you two aren't doing any of the cooking," snorted Paul. "Did you get all the ingredients I asked you to, John?"

John grinned a little too widely. "Certainly, sir."

"So George and I'll cook, while you and Ringo go out and get decorations," said Paul.

George frowned. "Why do I have to cook?"

"It is the punishment for your sins," replied John ominously. Then he cackled wickedly.

"How're you going to find anyplace that's still open?" wondered Paul suddenly. "It's New Year's Eve."

John waved off his friend's doubts. "We're right outside London! The city's huge, there's got to be at least one decoration store open!"

Paul shrugged. "Whatever you say, mate."

John led Ringo out the back door. "We'll be back in a jiffy!" the drummer called over his shoulder.

Paul and George looked at each other.

"What're we making?" asked George.

Paul opened the fridge. "Turkey!" The bassist pulled a turkey out of the fridge and set it down on the counter. "Well, I'm making turkey, anyroad. You're in charge of the salads." He handed George a knife and a bowl of apples.

George groaned. "How did I get roped into this?"

* * *

Ringo and John drove into London triumphantly.

"Look, there's a party store!" said John, pointing. Ringo took a second to glance away from the road.

"It looks awfully dark," observed Ringo dubiously, turning back to driving.

"Oh, yeah, it's closed," replied John. He pushed his glasses up his nose.

"That means we can't get decorations there," pointed out Ringo.

"I know!" said John happily. The continued to drive in silence.

"Can we put the radio on?" asked Ringo after another fifteen minutes of driving.

John started bouncing up and down in his seat. "There's another party store!"

"Is it open?" asked Ringo.

"No," replied John.

They kept driving.

"There's someplace open!" exclaimed John suddenly.

Ringo jumped. "Where?"

"Over there!" said John, pointing. "It says 'girls girls girls' in neon."

Ringo groaned. "That's not a party store, John."

"Depends on your definition of party," replied John.

Ringo tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "We've got a job to do, Lennon!"

* * *

Back at Kenwood, George was chopping tomatoes with a vengeance.

"Why" _chop_ "am I," _chop_ "a famous Beatle," _chop_ "chopping tomatoes" _chop_ "on New Year's Eve?" muttered George.

"Because you're a good person," replied Paul, pointing a turkey baster at George's face.

"Get that thing out of my face!" complained George, swatting it away. Paul yanked it out of his reach.

"Don't touch it, you might contaminate the salad!" yelped the bassist. George rolled his eyes.

Paul finally put the turkey in the oven. "Voila!" he said proudly. "Now, we just take it out in three and a half hours!"

George frowned. "That means it won't be ready till eleven."

Paul made a face. "Not like anybody'll be ready for the main course before then anyroad."

"Main course?" asked George. "You've got more planned?"

"Yeah!" said Paul happily. "I'm going to make the green beans with almonds next. They'll be the turkey's side dish. Of course, your salads come first. Then, there's the –"

George put his hands in the air. "I don't want to hear more."

Paul grinned mischievously. "Not even about dessert?"

George perked up. "There's dessert?"

"Tiramisu," replied Paul with a nod.

George moaned. "Why can't I have any now?"

"Because it'll take about an hour to make," replied Paul.

"Ow!" replied George.

"That's an odd reply," commented Paul, pouring a bag of frozen green beans into a pot.

"No, I cut my finger!" complained George, holding up his hand for Paul to see. Sure enough, there was a tiny cut.

"Quick, go rinse it out!" exclaimed Paul. "Then put tape all around it, we can't have blood getting into the salads! Oh, and you'll have to throw away those tomatoes!"

"But I've been cutting those for twenty minutes!" yelled George. "I'm not giving all that hard work up!"

"You can't rinse already cut tomatoes!" replied Paul. "And you wouldn't be able to see the blood, they're red!"

"Exactly!" George retorted. "Nobody has to know!"

* * *

Ringo looked fretfully out the window.

"Do you see anyplace yet, John?" he asked.

"Nope," said John. "Nothing except that brightly lit party store just behind us."

Ringo screeched into an abrupt and extremely illegal U-turn on a one-way street.

"Where?!" asked the drummer, scanning the deserted street.

"There," replied John, pointing at a decoration store. "No need to get your knickers in a twist."

Ringo zoomed in front of the store and parked. He and John leapt out of the car and raced through the cold night to the door. A man with a nametag stood on the other side of the glass.

Ringo sighed with relief and made to open the door, but he was thwarted. The employee slid a key into the lock and turned it, grinning maliciously.

John ran up and banged on the window. "Let us in!"

The employee pointed at a sign on the door, which read, "Open until 8:30 on New Year's Eve."

John and Ringo both glanced at their watches. 8:31.

"We deserve a break!" yelled Ringo, pounding on the door. "We've been looking for a party store for the whole night!"

The employee waved and turned out the light. He turned around and walked away, into the shadowy recesses of the shop, seemingly oblivious to John and Ringo's yelling and pounding.

* * *

At Kenwood, George emerged from the bathroom for the fifteenth time.

"Is this enough?" he asked Paul, who was on the telephone. George held up his hurt finger, which was wrapped in a centimeter-thick covering of tape, bandaids, and gauze.

Paul cupped a hand over the telephone. "Shh! I'm on the phone with Brian!"

George put his ridiculously bandaged finger to his lips, signaling his silence. He decided to assume Paul was satisfied with his blood protection and ambled back into the kitchen.

"Great! See you at 9:45!" said Paul. He hung up the phone.

"Er . . . is the oven _supposed_ to be belching smoke?" called George from the kitchen.

Paul ran toward his friend's voice, his face a pasty shade of green.

"No!" he exclaimed, seeing rather ugly black smoke seeping out of the edges of the oven door. He frantically grabbed a pitcher of water from the counter, yanked open the oven, and tossed the water inside.

He and George stared rather forlornly and the black hunk of what was once a turkey.

Then George burst out laughing. "What was all that about having a plan?" he giggled.

A stormy cloud settled over Paul's brow. "Don't you _dare_ –"

* * *

Defeated, John and Ringo leaned against the car.

"What should we do now?" asked Ringo.

"Hey, that place looks open," said John, pointing at the Chinese restaurant across the street, where Chinese lanterns twinkled merrily in the window.

"Let's go there and get something to keep us going," suggested Ringo. The pair of Beatles ambled across the road and wandered inside. A bell tinkled above them as they stepped into the otherwise deserted restaurant. Chinese lanterns were strung across the ceiling, and a red papier-mâché dragon stood guard next to the door.

A waiter bustled out of the kitchen in the back. "How may I help you?" he asked.

Suddenly, John was seized by inspiration. "I'd like to buy your decorations, please," he said.

"They are not for sale," replied the waiter stuffily.

John pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket and held it out tantalizingly. "The perks of being a Beatle," he muttered in Ringo's ear.

The waiter straightened his posture. "I'm sure something can be arranged."

Ten minutes later, John and Ringo were cramming the papier-mâché dragon into the back seat of their car, on top of string after string of Chinese lanterns.

"This is gonna be the best Jewish Christmas ever!" exclaimed Ringo happily.

"It's not Jewish Christmas, it's Chinese New Year," replied John. "'Cept it isn't."

Ringo blinked.

* * *

Paul and George raced back inside, shivering.

"It had to be done, Paul," comforted George. "We had to throw away the turkey."

"How are we going to do this without a main course?" moaned Paul, burying his face in his hands. "It's 9:15. He'll be here in half an hour! And Ringo and John aren't even back yet!"

"I'll put out the fruit salad, and the green one without tomatoes," offered George. "You get to work on that tiramisu."

Paul nodded. "Back to work, I guess."

The both bustled around the kitchen for a few minutes, until Ringo and John burst into the house, each carrying a pile of Chinese lanterns.

"We got decorations!" sang John proudly, holding up his armful. "Na-na na-na boo-boo!"

Paul eyed them dubiously.

"I thought we had already decided that Brian isn't Chinese," said George.

"This was all we could get," replied Ringo.

"Quick! Help us put them up!" said John.

George leapt into action, grabbing Ringo's armful of lanterns.

"Ringo, get more from the car," ordered John. "George, help me put these up. Paul, just . . . keep cooking!"

"Did you finish setting the table, George?" called Paul after the retreating guitarists.

"Yes, Mother!" replied George cheekily. "I put out the salads and everything!"

* * *

At precisely 9:45, Brian Epstein rang the doorbell at Kenwood.

Frantically, George and Ringo plopped the papier-mâché dragon onto the couch. John and Paul raced into the entryway from the kitchen. They all hurriedly straightened their clothes. George reached over and dusted some remaining soot off Paul's suit.

John grabbed the door and pulled it open.

"Surprise!" the Beatles said in unison.

* * *

**A/N: Come on, show me some of that Jewish Christmas Chinese New Year spirit and give me a review!**


End file.
